


Dwarves' Tongues Run On, They Say

by Jon



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 03:03:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jon/pseuds/Jon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the ‘Bofur is vocal during sex’ Hobbit Kink Meme prompt. Bofur is vocal during sex; Dwalin enjoys it a lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dwarves' Tongues Run On, They Say

Bofur’s mouth is amazing. For all the right and wrong reasons.

Dwalin’s fingers do nothing to shut it up, and even an exaggerated sigh and a half-hearted shift to glare at the dwarf, who lies half naked underneath him, doesn’t carry enough of a hint.

He buries his face in Bofur’s ridiculous hat, groaning softly to himself, and to his lover if he would hear it.

‘Bofur- shush or they’ll hear us all the way to the Iron Hills’.

Bofur doesn’t shush- he’s still talking. Talking during meals, talking during important meetings- and talking his way through sex.

It’s not that he talks too excessively (though he talks more than most of the other dwarves); Dwalin knows dwarves who do that, and they usually end a night with a swift punch in the gob- but it’s so noticeable when Bofur talks that every time he opens his mouth, the whole pub, or every dwarf in Ered Luin, turns their heads to find out the source of the loud, lilting voice. It could have carried through the very battle of Azanulbizar, had Bofur been there, and apart from Thorin’s bellow it’s the voice he can pick out easiest over the cacophony of a fray.

Before Dwalin had admitted his feelings for the miner, he had convinced himself that his accent and brashness was the only reason his ears pricked at the sound of him- but it was always apparent that there was something more; even he couldn’t deny the tug on his heart he felt every time he caught those kind, brown eyes, and he couldn’t long ignore his brother’s knowing smile.

 

_**_

_‘Ye look cold,’ Bofur said. Dwalin flinched as though he’d been scalded, and turned around._

_‘Don’t sneak up on me like that, Bofur,’ he replied harshly, though he instantly kicked himself and shut his big trap. With steady breaths, he tried to remember what his brother had told him about speaking to someone you’ve utterly fell for. Rule one, try not to upset them._

_‘I’m- I’m sorry- just didn’t see you,’ he mumbled. The crease which had formed on Bofur’s brow lessened, and at once the smile he had come to love was back with full force._

_‘That’s alright- I know you warrior types!’ he laughed, and sat himself next to Dwalin, passing a steaming bowl of stew to him, which was cradled carefully in his gloves._

_‘Here, this might take the bite of the wind off.’_

_Dwalin tried to steady his hands as he took the meal from him; it was true, he was bloody freezing, though he didn’t want Bofur to see that- to comment on it made him look weak, and he could stand no embarrassment in front of him._

_‘Just a fresh breeze,’ he said, trying to brush it off. He wished he’d worn his jacket._

_Bofur looked over camp at their companions; all of the other dwarves had taken their heavy furs out of their packs (Ori was almost non-existent in all the layers Dori had wrapped him in). He himself had wrapped another scarf around his neck, and wore an extra tunic._

_‘Aye, bit fresh…’ he replied, and Dwalin tried not to look too hard at his lips as the smile still danced on them._

_He tucked in with a spoon Bofur produced from his pocket, wishing that Balin was here to guide him, to try and make small talk with Bofur that he could jump in on. But also, he thought, trying not to choke as the hot meat burned his tongue, he was glad he wasn’t here to see him fail miserably at this._

_He realised that Bofur wasn’t taking, and looked up curiously. The other dwarf was sitting and looking right at him eating, which made Dwalin stop in mid-chew._

_‘Y’ want some?’ he asked with his mouth full, before he could stop himself. Rule two, try your hardest not to sound like an idiot._

_He thought for a second that Bofur was going to up and leave, but instead he did something that Dwalin had never seen him do. He removed his hat._

_Bofur briefly turned it in his hands, looking at the battered thing anxiously._

_Without a word, and without Dwalin really realising what was going on, Bofur straightened up and turned around to face him fully, with a grin that set Dwalin’s mind filling with fuzz and half-formed sentences, and his heart beating faster. In a flash it was over, and Bofur’s hat was firmly plopped on his head._

_‘I know a pair of cold ears when I see ‘em, Dwalin,’ he said, and he sat back- the sure smile faltering slightly as Dwalin’s spoon clattered into the bowl._

_What now, Dwalin?_

_Kiss him you idiot._

_Both of these thoughts came to him like a heavy slap in the face before he could realise that Bofur had leaned forwards. He was half aware of putting the bowl down and spilling the rest of it onto the grass, but all he could see- all the could think he could see, because his mind wasn’t processing anything around him properly- was that tooth earring swinging closer to his face, Bofur’s own braids at his cheek. How they got so close, he didn’t really understand-_

_Panic set in before he knew it; Bofur’s eyes were closed, his lips almost there. With an inner crow of triumph, he brought his hand up, and it met with the scratchy fabric of Bofur’s shirt. Not in a thousand ages he’d have thought this was possible._

_‘Y’ look cute in tha’ hat,’ was the last thing Bofur had said, before his lips were silenced._

**

 

Dwalin often thinks of their first kiss with fondness, and with a little pride that it had actually happened, even with Balin’s words of wisdom all vacating his head at once.

‘Dwalin, oh by the bloody Maker… that feels- mh, a little, little faster perhaps-‘

Bofur’s sighs become more and more distracted, but he still moans ‘more’ and ‘bloody Mahal’ every few seconds with each thrust of Dwalin’s hips driving into his backside.

‘Aye, love,’ sighs Dwalin- irked and impossibly aroused by Bofur’s voice all at once. He could say he was addicted to it, hooked on it, and longed for it as much as he was annoyed by its light-hearted tone; ever present and ever optimistic even when Bofur felt upset or angry.

He once again bats the floppy corner of the hat out of the way and runs his hand through the hair trailing down Bofur’s shoulders as he lies sprawled and half-nude, clothes hanging by their messed and stretched laces, breeches pushed as far as they got them before they’d collapsed under the tree. Dwalin’s eyes roll back in lust as the slighter dwarf’s eyes flicker closed- and sound is caught in his throat, though the lips keep on babbling something silently. _This_ is what he likes to see.

Though in some cases, when Dwalin’s in a particularly good mood (or when he hasn’t heard Bofur’s voice in a long while), he likes to make Bofur talk in stead of trying to hush him up for sake of privacy.

As his thrusts deepen, he realises that this time it’s not going to be the drawn out fuck he hoped it would be (he’d forsaken that when Bofur had started eyeing him all throughout lunch), and feels a wickedness spiked with lust surge up through his belly and take control of his movements, bruising Bofur’s hips and pushing his legs back at the same time.

There’s a growled huff of breath as Bofur sits up, supported by a hand on Dwalin’s shoulder. He fumbles on his head, jams the hat on tighter and at the same time wipes the accumulation of sweat from his cheek. His fingers trail between them, his body jarring as Dwalin powers into him, for a moment leaving him dumbfounded with his hand in mid air, and he hesitates at the buttons on his chest, toying with the idea of pulling his shirt right off before he overheats from their fucking.

‘Y’ like that? Fucking you into next week so you can’ even walk proper?’

Dwalin knows Bofur can’t resist a direct question.

‘Aule above it’s good- _it’sgoodit’sgoodit’sgood_ ,’ Bofur whimpers, body rocking as Dwalin pulls him down sharply, securing his back with a steady, firm hand.

‘I won’t be able to go back to camp without ev- everybody look- looking at me, you’ve fucking ruined my clothes- damn you!’

Dwalin knows he doesn’t mean his frustration; there’s a blissful smile on his face and the way he near rips at the buttons on his jacket tells him that having Dwalin right now is worth the time it’ll take to stitch and mend. He growls as Bofur touches himself, but loves the slight blush over his sweaty, happy face, as he knows he’s always embarrassed at bringing himself off in front of him.

‘You touch that cock too much,’ Dwalin jokes, but aids his words with a deep kiss. Bofur desperately breathes in through his nose, opening his mouth to Dwalin’s tongue, and they kiss deeply and roughly. But even this doesn’t stop him.

‘It’s your fault. If you weren’t so damn cute I wouldn’t-‘

For that, Dwalin slams in harder- until he hears Bofur’s cries of ‘handsome! Rugged!’ in amidst his giggles and groans. He’s trying to hold back now, always needing to come last, to enjoy the exquisite moment where Bofur’s head is thrown back and his hat crumples against the hard ground; sometimes he’s even still talking.

‘I’m going to spill inside you, you want that? Or do you want me to withdraw it, so I can see my come splattering y’ arse and balls?’ he grinds, both sounding so delicious- but all he needs is Bofur’s voice telling him exactly what to do.

Bofur’s hand is replaced by Dwalin’s, and he throws his free one out to grab a tree-root, at a weird angle, but he’s steady against the assault still going on. He can feel that Dwalin’s close, and with a lascivious smile, he leans in-

‘Though the latter sounds enticing, I think we can save that for when you nail me just outside of camp later, when I’m pressed up with my arse in the air and on all fours- feeling your cum drip down m’ crack, over the back of my balls and thighs. But now, I need to feel your fat cock get hot and stiff in me, to hear my name being shouted out… I need to feel y’ cum running out of me and ruining my underclothes when I’ve put my trousers back on, and then I’ll whisper that in your ear tonight; that I’m still sore but that I need your cock to fill me right back up again, and that’s when you’ll take my hand, unable to control yourself-‘

Dwalin can’t believe the filth pouring out of Bofur’s mouth, and the miner’s hooded eyes, dark now and without any trace of a joke, sends a deep shiver down his body. His cock and balls are so tight- and everything’s on the edge, right on the edge of coming hard.

Dwalin’s shuddering breath mists on the gold band around the tooth-earring, and he tugs it sharply, feeling a muffled protest from his lover as his head buries in his neck.

‘You’ll be the death of me, ‘Fur,’ he chokes. He can feel himself tipping. With the last of his sanity, he picks up the fallen hat on the ground.

‘I do hope so- it’ll be a great way to die. Traumatic for me, though,’ Bofur chirps, and Dwalin starts to groan harshly, at the point of no return.

‘Hat,’ he whispers- before he breaks- and Bofur mutters a _‘thank you’_.

Just as Dwalin climaxes, he fixes the hat on the top of Bofur’s head, pushing it down harder than he meant to as he convulses; it slips over Bofur’s eyes, but the other dwarf can’t find this funny, not as he’s about to come himself.

‘Oh fer the love of… Dwalin- Dwalin!’ he cries, his eyes still obscured by the fluff and leather and his arse feeling warm, slightly sticky. He could laugh at these two sensations, but being blind and feeling that cock pulsing inside him as Dwalin’s orgasm still rides through him- it only serves to push him higher, his thighs trembling and twitching even wider apart as he feels cum running down the underside of his cock, and his own climax peaks.

 

**

 

A while later, Dwalin and Bofur still lie in a heap, haphazardly clothed again.

‘I should make you a hat,’ muses Bofur in the silence.

Dwalin sighs- never a peaceful moment, eh?- and kisses his lover’s head, or what would be his head if there wasn’t a bloody hat in the way.

‘I should make you a gag, for all your rabbiting on,’ he says. He feels Bofur’s hand, which was stroking his thigh and abdomen come to an abrupt halt, and his permanent smile broadens until Dwalin feels teeth against his chest.

He rolls his eyes.

‘I didn’ mean,’

‘You did.’

‘Hush up-‘

‘ _You_ hush up.’


End file.
